


lord have mercy on my rough and rowdy ways

by little_baby_kaiju



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Crying, Fluff, Gen, Non-Sexual Age Play, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-08
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-13 23:56:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18041513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_baby_kaiju/pseuds/little_baby_kaiju
Summary: i wish i was a slave to an age-old tradelord have mercy on my rough and rowdy waysor, our favourite family needs some self-soothing.





	1. Number One

**Author's Note:**

> follow my tumblr @little-baby-kaiju  
> send me prompts there!!!
> 
> title comes from ‘Down in the Valley’ by The Head and the Heart

There’s not much to do on the moon. He supposes he should have known that before he came up here, but knowing something and experiencing it are two very different things. It’s lonely too, so lonely that he aches with it. But he’s got to keep going, for Dad. Everything he does is for Dad.

He yawns loudly and reaches for the watering can. At least he’s got his plant to nurture (and talk to). He stops still, mind flashing back to a bundle of fur shoved under his bunk in a fit of embarrassment. He shakes his head a few times to try and get the image to dissipate but it doesn’t. It just feels so wrong, he thinks. But... at least no one will ever have to know.

That makes his mind up, and it’s almost uncontrollable; the way he rushes to his bunk and drops to his knees. His hand catches on something soft and he tugs and tugs until he’s got it, it’s in his hand and he can’t quite stifle the sob that breaks from his throat because maybe he isn’t so alone after all, maybe this will help him through the dark, cold days and the dark, cold nights.

It seems so much smaller in his hands now, these foreign hands that have replaced his own, but it’s still the same as it’s always been. A tiny tattered bear in a silver spacesuit. ‘Spacebear’ (he was never quite as creative as Allison or Klaus). Dropping to sit on his bunk, he cradles it softly, hands shaking as he brings it slowly to his chest. He can’t stop the tears from flowing as the fur brushes his face. He finds himself in the fetal position, Spacebear’s fur wet as he cries. No one will ever have to know, he tells himself. No one will ever know.


	2. Number Two

His eyes shoot open as he writhes on the bed, breath still coming in shallow pants as he tries to adjust to the lack of light. He’s in his childhood bedroom, the same posters on the wall as there were back then, the same tattered green plush dinosaur on his bedside table that had always been there. He doesn’t mean to start crying, but his lip wobbles pathetically and there’s a lump in his throat and suddenly he’s sobbing brokenly, “M-m-mommy?”

No one responds and he flips himself over in bed, burying his face in his pillow and wailing desperately. He hasn’t felt this vulnerable since before he left home the first time and it’s scary. So scary.

He doesn’t even notice the door to his room creaking open until the soft clack of high heels gets his attention. He’s too mortified to pick his head up from his pillow so he holds his breath and tries not to move until the bed dips and someone sits beside his prone form, stroking his hair gently.

He whimpers as he realises who it is. “M-mommy, I-“

She cuts him off with a shushing noise, her other hand rubbing his back in slow circles. “It’s ok, Diego. I’m here. Go to sleep.”

He does.


	3. Number Three

It isn’t wrong if it’s not sexual, she reasons with herself. She knew it was questionable when she’d play games with Patrick, his hands sliding up her short schoolgirl skirt, fingers skimming the tops of her thigh-high stockings as she sat into his lap and let him have his way with her.

She wonders now if he has anyone else to play those games with, to dress up and demean.

Taking a deep breath, she turns to the mirror and looks at herself. She’s amazed by how young she looks. Her hair’s in loose pigtails and she’s wearing a dress unlike any she’d be caught dead in on the red carpet. It’s baggy and baby pink and flows out around her knees in a childlike way. There’s a crumpled, battered ragdoll in her hands, handmade by her mom because all of the other dollies had pale peach skin like Vanya’s, and none looked remotely like her.

Something small and round and plastic catches her eye from her desk. It’s one of Claire’s old pacifiers, long forgotten in the bottom of her handbag until she decided to clean it out. Gingerly she reaches for it, wiping the silicone nipple down her dress in a vain attempt to rid it of dust.

Looking into her own eyes, she brings it to her mouth and sucks, delighting at how it completes the picture of innocence, the bare-faced little girl now that she always felt like inside now come to life.


	4. Number Four

Yet another night of withdrawal symptoms. He doesn’t know how to cope with them anymore. He’s tried pretty much everything (legal) but nothing’s working. His stuffed unicorn has been carefully re-stitched by Mom and his room is totally drug-free. Not even Ben’s around to keep him company.

That gives him an idea. He stands up too fast from his bedroom floor and makes his wobbly way to the door of Ben’s room, tugging it open carefully and pulling it shut behind him. He doesn’t know exactly what he’s there to do, but he just starts pulling boxes from shelves. A thick layer of dust has settled over everything in the room, and he tries not to think about that because it makes his eyes sting and his throat close up. He chucks one of the heavier boxes to the floor and it makes a loud clattering noise that startles him.

Sitting cross-legged in front of it, he pries it open, a cloud of dust spewing up into his face.  
Coughing, he reaches inside and pulls out a handful of brightly coloured bricks. He laughs slightly and upturns the box, throwing a silent apology to Ben for getting his room all messy.

A smile grows over his face as he sets about making a huge tower of blocks, and then proceeding to bulldoze it with what’s meant to be a truck put haphazardly together.

Laughter was heard from Ben’s room again that day, something that hadn’t been heard in a very long time.


	5. Number Five

He misses his family. He misses his siblings and all of their drama, his mother and her kind words, Pogo with his wise ones. He misses Mr Miller, with his floppy ears and his tiny hand-stitched business suit and the stuffing that started coming out of his leg after a tug-of-war with Luther.

Today finds him stood in the rubble of an old department store, similar to the one where he found the beautiful Dolores. Something brightly coloured catches his eye, and he walks over to it. A baby and toddler display has been destroyed by the falling building, but a few items have been saved. He crouched down a picks up the plastic item, stilling at the noise it makes as he shifts it slightly in his hand. It’s obviously a rattle, the kind that little babies throw out of their prams when they want to be obnoxious. He grins at it, shaking it in his palm to hear the noise again. He doesn’t know why he slips it into his pocket before he leaves.

He doesn’t know why he brings it out sometimes, at night when it’s just him and Dolores against the world, and shakes it like he imagines he did as a child. He doesn’t know why his thumb finds its way to his mouth and he holds Dolores a little tighter than usual as his eyes droop and close.

The noise comforts him.

The noise makes him feel less alone.


	6. Number Six

He watches Klaus from a distance, knowing that coming any closer will just hurt his heart too much.

He misses being corporeal, being able to laugh and play like the child he once was, the child who was so cruelly ripped away like a page discarded from a book.

He goes and sits in his room sometimes, wishing he could lay down in his own bed, play with his own bricks, read his own books, cuddle Octie (his plush octopus).

Seeing Klaus so happy and carefree brings a sad sort of smile to his face, and a calm sort of sense of being over him.

He wants to play with Klaus, wants to pile brick on top of brick on top of brightly coloured brick until it’s dark out and they collapse in a heap on the floor, cuddled together like they used to.

He shuts his eyes sometimes, and imagines he can see the soft scrap of blanket that’s still tucked away under his pillow. 

Maybe Klaus’ll find it.

He hopes he does.


	7. Number Seven

It’s late and she’s still awake. She stares up at the ceiling for what feels like forever before an idea pops into her head. It’s silly, but it helps her wind down and fall asleep. It’s childish, but that’s sort of the point. She justifies it by thinking that she knows for a fact that her siblings have way worse coping mechanisms than her (Klaus especially).

She lives alone which makes it way easier to hide things (which means she doesn’t hide things, she keeps them in her top drawer when she’s not using them). It’s a stark contrast from living in the mansion with six siblings who left her out and a robot mom who reported straight back to their abusive dad.

The soft material gives her a warm feeling inside as her fingertips brush against it. She grips it eagerly, pulling it to rest across her shoulders. Her favourite teddy, a tattered brown bear her mom made for her as a child, is tucked beneath her arm as she makes her way barefoot to her living room. Cartoons aren’t on at this time of night so she curls up on the couch and starts up the DVD player. The soft jingle of a childhood favourite begins to play, and her eyes are closing immediately. It always puts her to sleep in the best way.


End file.
